


Reprieve

by tarakai714



Series: Subdued [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarakai714/pseuds/tarakai714
Summary: Another post-fall vignette.The mature rating is there because of tobacco consumption. Otherwise this is quite SFW.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Subdued [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825081
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Reprieve

Will blames himself for the level of pain he has to endure at the moment. The first wave hit him just before dawn. He stirred when Hannibal left, not fully awake but aware enough to register a warm hand against his cheek and a murmured goodbye. The next time he woke up, the pain ricocheted through his skull like a burning ping pong ball, but somehow he fell back asleep before he could summon the strength to leave the bed in search of painkillers.

Will is fully awake now, swimming in waves of pain that leave his hands shaking and his vision blurred. The Naproxen is as useless as an M&M at this point, so he does not even bother. Instead, he makes his way to the en-suite where he hopes to find the emergency stash of pain medication and a strong muscle relaxant. He takes his shower crouching down with his forehead pressed against the tub, pulling at his own hair, pleading for a reprieve from the pain so he can stand up and dry himself.

Hannibal will not be home before dark. Will has no idea which mailbox, at which of their four safe houses in nearby towns he is checking. He thinks with how different Hannibal looks these days, even Jack Crawford himself would not be able to recognize him. Yet he cannot fault Hannibal for his precautionary measures.

Will considers calling him on the burner phone to passive-aggressively urge him to come back sooner, but he finds no way of doing so without coming off as desperately needy.

It is half past eleven when Will finally makes his way downstairs. The muscle relaxant has loosened his tense limbs and stiff neck, and now with the pain ebbed, he hopes to take the chance to eat something. He wants to take a second dose just for good measure and knows better than to do so on an empty stomach. He makes himself some toast which he eats unceremoniously over the sink and washes it down with a cup of tea. He draws the thick navy blue curtains, fills a tall glass with tap water, and curls up on the sofa, finally falling asleep to David Attenborough’s voice and the fluttering wings of fireflies.

It is late afternoon when Hannibal walks through the foyer holding a small paper bag of groceries and a sealed manila envelope. His eyes have not adjusted to the darkness of the house yet, but he can detect Will’s pliant form bathed in the soft blue light of the TV screen. He walks forward quietly and places the items on the coffee table next to the bottle of painkillers and the sheet of muscle relaxants. Hannibal sighs through his nose and bends over to adjust Will’s head so his neck is not strained. He feels warm to the touch, but not exactly feverish. Hannibal allows himself to linger for a few more moments watching Will before picking the bag of groceries and heading towards the kitchen.

When dinner is ready, he cups Will’s face and soothes his thumb over his cheekbone. Will makes a barely audible humming sound and frowns, turning his face away from Hannibal’s hand and falling back asleep. Hannibal smiles and concedes for now. He eats by himself in the dining room, before coming back to the sitting room to sit down in the armchair closest to the sofa, sipping his chilled Tokaji and browsing through the local news. When Will is finally lucid enough to consider dinner, Hannibal has to persuade him not to forego food altogether. Will agrees to eat a small bowl of soup with two slices of plain Crostini. He eats quietly at the breakfast table in the kitchen.

“Sorry,” he says when he gets up to rinse his bowl and place it in the dishwasher. He turns around and dries his hands, wincing at the halogen lights: “I’ve been a bit cognitively impaired today.”

Hannibal takes Will’s place at the sink to wash his port glass: “no need to apologize.”

He glances at Will who is now moving sluggishly toward the sliding door to the back deck, but stops as if he does not know why he walked in that direction. Hannibal makes the decision for him once he has dried his hands. He slides the door open and nudges Will forward: “come Will, a breath of fresh air will help clear out the fog.” Will goes without protest, dropping onto the lounge chair and taking a deep breath of the warm Summer air: “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow: “I didn’t know you smoked, Will,” tutting playfully at him.

Will closes his eyes and swallows: “socially.” He cuts Hannibal off before he can make his sarcastic comment: “by myself.” His laugh has this liquid quality, flowing between a chuckle and a snicker.

Hannibal smiles fondly at him: “I believe you are _high_ , my dear.”

Will cracks one eye open and looks up at him: “you think?”

Hannibal reaches out to card his fingers through Will’s hair: “just a moment. I will be right back.”

He comes back a few minutes later with a pouch of fine ribbon-cut Danish tobacco in one hand and a small bag of filter tips in the other. Will reaches out for the items, but Hannibal refuses to hand them over as he sits down by his side: “allow me.”

Will obliges, folding his legs to make room for Hannibal. He tilts his head so he can watch him roll a single cigarette, perfectly slim as if mass produced at a factory. Hannibal’s tongue slowly swipes along the gummed edge of the paper, and his fingers fold it over, sealing the cigarette.

Will accepts the offered cigarette: “You’re really good at this.”

Hannibal inclines his head with a smile as he produces a clipper from his pocket: “I learned to roll my own cigarettes when I was a young boy in Paris.”

Will’s hand enfolds Hannibal’s as he lights the cigarette for him. It is a barely-there touch illuminated by the warm glow of the flame it encircles.

“I still indulge,” Hannibal says, putting the clipper back in his pocket and straightening his back.

Will blows out half the smoke through the corner of his mouth away from Hannibal, letting the rest of it spill out of his nose. He does not know about Cassie Boyle’s encounter with Hannibal. But he cannot reconcile the idea of Hannibal’s olfactory prowess with his indulgence in cigarettes. He turns the cigarette between his fingers and offers it back to Hannibal. He wonders if Hannibal is going to change his clothes, take a shower, and drench himself in cologne before bed. But it does make sense, given Hannibal’s hedonistic ways. Indulgence is a luxury Hannibal decidedly bestows upon himself. And Will may still not be entirely comfortable with it, but he is learning.

Will goes upstairs to shower once they get back inside, while Hannibal spends half an hour checking the locks and security feeds from around the premises. He picks up the manila envelope and considers it for a moment, but leaves it on the breakfast table; a conversation saved for the next morning. Will lies awake in bed when Hannibal leaves the bathroom. Will’s towel-dried hair is still damp to the touch, and Hannibal cannot help but bury his nose in it as he slides under the covers. They do not share blankets or comforters. Their preferred sleeping positions are so different that the most efficient way to co-sleep is for them not to be under the same blanket. But they do inch their way closer to each other, be it for comfort or intimacy.

Hannibal slides closer to Will until he is pressing against his back over the covers. Will hums in response and leans his weight against him. It is dark, but Hannibal can see the outline of Will’s face when he raises his head to press his lips to his warm temple. Will smells like soap and Hannibal longs to do this again in the morning when he smells like himself: deliciously musky and sweet, and very _very_ kissable.

“I’m sorry I was not here to take care of you today.”

Will hums and presses against him: “you left me the good drugs. Can’t really complain.”

They stay this way for a few more moments and it is almost an afterthought when Will says: “I have a higher pain tolerance when you are around.”

Hannibal runs his hand up and down Will’s flank over the comforter: “I will always come back. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: The envelope's contents are revealed in Part 5 of this series.
> 
> If you are wondering about the Attenborough documentary Will watches, see "Life that Glows."


End file.
